


House of Cards

by Petronille



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Drama, F/M, Suspense, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronille/pseuds/Petronille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the Voltron Force was fighting a war with King Zarkon, someone else was surreptitiously doing the same thing on the inside, and soon an unexpected alliance is formed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.

House of Cards

Prelude: Coup d'Etat

It had all been a surprise to Allura.

It had begun late at night, when Coran received a coded transmission from an unknown ship seeking to land. By early morning they were all called to the council chamber for an impromptu meeting with the Illyrian prime minister. Allura's stomach lurched at this; she'd always regarded the Illyrians as an unknown quantity-and a potentially dangerous one at that-since their grand duchess had married King Zarkon and brought their kingdom into his fold.

Ancelin Fosco was as well-dressed as ever, with a fine doublet and a gold chain about his neck signifying his rank. He reminded Allura of a hawk on the lookout for prey, though she was certain that he had come to Arus for a different reason.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, bowing deeply to her. Yes, he was well-versed in all of the courtly manners. But underneath the veneer lie a cunning, resourceful political tactician. It was Ancelin Fosco who had arranged the marriage between the late grand duchess and Zarkon, and it was also Ancelin Fosco who had been able to persuade Lotor to take one of the grand duchess's cousins as a first wife. Allura gestured for him to rise, and he surveyed her with cool, steely eyes.

"How well you look!" he went on. "The Queen will be most pleased to hear of this!"

"Don't you mean the Crown Princess?" Keith interjected, and here Ancelin smiled and shook his head.

"She is now Queen, for her husband has made himself King," he replied.

Allura sucked in her breath. So it was just as they had feared: Lotor had finally gotten restless enough to overthrow Zarkon. "What's the reason for your visit, Prime Minister Fosco?" she said evenly, motioning for him to sit.

Ancelin settled into a chair, eyeing each member of the Voltron force and then Coran levelly. He doesn't trust us, either, Allura realized, seeing his lips quirk at Hunk's scowl.

Fosco folded his hands on the table in front of him, his expression sobering. "The Queen," he began, "has fled Doom with her children and her ladies. She sent me ahead to speak with you. She asks for sanctuary, and she seeks to treat with you."

"A likely story," Hunk scoffed, and Lance rolled his eyes and glared at Fosco. Coran held up his hand to still them.

"I've spoken with the Queen herself," he told them. "She has her children with her, and she seeks an alliance."

An alliance. Sophie Beatrix, now Queen of the Drule Empire, sought an alliance with Arus and Galaxy Garrison. "Why does she seek an alliance?" Allura asked Coran.

Coran's face grew grave. "Princess, she seeks help in putting her son on the throne."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.

Playlist: "Shake It Out" by Florence and the Machine, "To Kill a King"by Hungry Lucy, "The Truth Beneath the Rose" by Within Temptation, "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna, "Steel" by Charlotte Martin, "Once in Every Lifetime" by Jem, "Nara" by E. S. Posthumus.

House of Cards

Chapter One

Six years previously.

Castle Doom.

It was said that the corridors of the Queen's wing were haunted, but of course, no one had been brave enough to see what exactly wandered the halls at night. The corridors grew chilly at night anyhow, so this added to the list of reasons the Queen's ladies-in-waiting gave themselves not to go out hunting ghosts. It wouldn't do to wander the halls now, though, since the Queen was ill again and all of them were needed to tend to her.

It had begun with the Queen complaining of a tickle in her throat, and so Sophie-who had been at her side that day-had sent for the handmaiden to bring tea with honey and lemon to soothe it. The remedy worked, and the Queen was quite well for a few months. But then the sore throat had returned, along with a fever, and it progressed into a deep cough and inflammation of the lungs. The doctors had been unsure of what the cause was: some said it was pneumonia, some said bronchitis, some said an allergic reaction to something. One doctor even suggested that the Queen return to her home world of Illyria and take in the pure air at her villa in the mountains. Yet somehow Sophie didn't think that the pure air in the mountains would help Plautilla.

And just as suddenly as they had set in, all symptoms disappeared The Queen was again able to join her husband the King in the throne room. Zarkon, ever so eager to establish himself as King and the highest authority in the empire, had never allowed his wives to sit at his side. Yet it was always important for the Queen to be present, and so she had always sat in an ornate chair to the right of the dais. There were almost always two ladies-in-waiting present to attend to the Queen should she need it. When Sophie dutifully stood behind the chair, she watched carefully as the King held court, as the Queen heard petitions from her humble subjects, as the old witch Haggar observed the whole of it from her own corner.

 _Don't trust Haggar. Never trust Haggar._ Ancelin Fosco had said that when Plautilla had sent for Sophie, before she had left Illyria and the beautiful palaces she had always called home. There were rumors that the first Queen-the mother of the Crown Prince-had trusted the witch, and that it had only resulted in her death. Plautilla would acknowledge Haggar and was courteous to her, but it never progressed beyond that, for Plautilla was wary of her as well.

Plautilla had been well enough for at least four weeks, well enough to take the little princesses out riding in the wood that had been constructed just for them, well enough to plan a trip to the villa in Illyria in the summer.

Until she awakened late a few nights ago with a raging fever and a harsh, dry cough. The doctors had been able to give her something to sleep and had administered medicine to bring her fever down, but she was still pale and wan, with dark shadows under her eyes. Sophie had stood by the bedside clutching her cousin's hand, at a loss as to what to do. The King's chief doctor bid the other ladies to gather in the salon. They left, wringing their hands and wiping tears from their eyes. Sophie tried to maintain a semblance of calm, even though she wished to weep and carry on as well.

"Sophie," Plautilla whispered, licking her dry lips and squeezing the girl's hand. "There are some things I would wish you to do for me."

"No," Sophie said, "no, I won't leave your side, Plautilla."

"Sweet cousin." Plautilla smiled sadly up at her. "You are too kind to remain at my side! But you must take charge of my ladies and keep up the appearance that there is nothing to fear, that this shall pass."

"You don't think that this will pass?" Sophie said very quietly, her heart leaping to her throat. "But Plautilla, it has always passed, and soon you'll be well again…"

Tears shimmered in Plautilla's eyes, and she turned her face away so that Sophie couldn't see them fall. "You must send for your brother," she said resolutely, "and have him bring Fosco with him."

"Why?" Sophie asked, and then Plautilla began to cough again. Sophie handed her the handkerchief that had been set on the bedside table, and Plautilla took it, holding it up to her mouth. Sophie placed her hand on Plautilla's shoulder as the coughs wracked her body. Soon the fit passed, though Plautilla lay there for a moment, trembling. She turned to Sophie, handing her the handkerchief.

"You see?" she quavered. "Don't you see?"

Sophie looked down at the crumpled handkerchief in her hand.

It was spotted red with blood.

******

Sophie emerged from the Queen's bedroom, hurried through the boudoir, and opened the double doors to the salon where the other ladies-in-waiting were huddled on sofas and chairs, weeping quietly. The doctor had left some minutes ago, no doubt to give his grave report to the King. She approached Hortense, who was the presiding lady over the Queen's household, and took the older woman's hand.

"How is the Queen?" Hortense intoned. Sophie pressed her lips together, shaking her head. Hortense nodded, her face grave, and then leaned closer to Sophie. "What does the Queen wish for us to do, Archduchess?" she queried.

Sophie glanced about the room at the other ladies, who seemed to be listening for some kind of instruction. "I must send for my brother," she told Hortense. "And someone must sit with the Queen at all hours. She mustn't be left alone."

Hortense rose. "I shall see to it. I shall assign the ladies shifts. What of the princesses?"

Sophie inhaled deeply, steeling herself. "They must be told. They must be prepared for the inevitable. I-I shall do it."

"Perhaps the King would wish to do so?"

The King has no interest in them. "I shall go to the King, and ask him how he should like me to go about it."

Hortense's lips trembled a bit, but she managed a thin smile. "I am sure he will be able to give you some direction on it, Archduchess."

This reassured Sophie somewhat. Hortense began delegating tasks to the ladies, and Sophie left the salon and went through the anteroom to access the corridor. She shivered a bit at the sudden chill, then continued down the corridor to the staircase that led to the main floor. She made her way through the crowded hallway, ignoring the not so subtle stares from the King's soldiers and the Drule courtiers. It was different here without Plautilla. They didn't see her as the Queen's lady-in-waiting and a young woman of gentle rank and breeding, but as a girl ripe for the picking. She picked up her skirts, careful not to let the hem of her gown brush against the men around her as a way of showing her disdain for them. One soldier said something to her in the Drule language and his comrades laughed, and Sophie looked at him icily over her shoulder to convey that she had understood every word that had come out of his mouth.

"Archduchess!" Sophie felt a hand lightly placed upon her shoulder, and she looked up to see the tall, proud figure of the Crown Prince beside her. All at once the crowd's demeanor began to change. At one look from the Crown Prince, they moved so that she could pass through the hallway unencumbered. A smile played on the Crown Prince's lips as he offered her his arm so that she could walk with him. Sophie stared up at him levelly and placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" he asked her.

"Please," Sophie replied, and he led her down the hallway to the doors of his father's throne room.

Sophie had never known what to make of Crown Prince Lotor, even when she had been a little girl and he had come to Illyria with her brother on holiday from the Academy. What she did know was that, though he was courteous and pleasing toward herself, Plautilla, and his younger sisters, he could be quite cruel. He did not hold his father in very high regard, but then the King didn't hold him in very high regard, either. As a general he was brilliant, and as a conqueror he was ruthless. He had returned home a few months ago basking in the full glory of his success at adding more planets to the empire, but no one remembered that. Instead, they remembered his recent defeats at the hands of the Arusian war machine and the pilots who operated it.

"How is my stepmother?" he asked suddenly. The question startled Sophie, but he stared down at her inquisitively, as though expecting her to answer.

"She is ill again," Sophie answered carefully. "She is worse off than last time. She wishes for me to send for my brother, and for Ancelin Fosco…"

Lotor chuckled. "Your brother. My father tells me that your brother governs Illyria admirably in Plautilla's stead, and then he takes every opportunity he can to remind me of my failures."

Sophie didn't know what to say to this. "Perhaps it's because you're his son and will be King someday. I'm sure he wants to go to his death knowing that his son will carry on his legacy and carry it on well."

"Sweet, sweet Sophie! You make it sound like he has good reason for it!" Lotor laughed. "Tell me something, Sophie: Do you think Sebastian would fare well in combat with the mighty Voltron?"

They had stopped their journey down the hallway, and he was now staring down at her expectantly with his startling yellow eyes. Yes, yes, it always came to this: Somehow Lotor would always try to hazard a guess as to what Sebastian would do in such situations, whether or not Sebastian would return a conquering hero. And Sophie would always have the same answer for him.

"I can't say for certain," Sophie said honestly. "You and Sebastian are so different, and you have had so much more experience in war than he has. I think that his losses would be greater than yours."

Lotor considered this for a moment, and then he smiled suavely down at Sophie. "As always, Sophie, you're right. Maybe my father should listen to what you have to say. You seem to provide better counsel than those fools he has as ministers."

"My lord prince, you're quite the flatterer!" Sophie observed lightly. "Just as you have always been!"

The guards jumped to attention and pushed open the metal double doors for them. The cavernous throne room had always been badly lit, Sophie reflected, but today it was worse. Only half of the lights were being used, and those were the lights around the dais upon which the King's throne stood. The King busied himself with the perusal of documents, the contents of which Sophie could only begin to imagine, and with draining the last few drops from a goblet of wine. Once he had finished, he snapped his fingers, and a handmaiden clad in a scanty dress of some sheer, flimsy material appeared with a pitcher in hand to fill it. She mounted the dais, ascending the steps carefully, and refilled the King's goblet. Before she could back away, the King reached forward to cup her cheek in his hand, staring at her for some moments, until he nodded and let her go. The handmaiden descended the steps a bit shakily, and Sophie thought that she could see dread in her face, but there was no way to be sure.

Sophie disengaged herself from Lotor, murmuring words of thanks, and followed the guard across the room until they stood before the throne. "Archduchess Sophie of Illyria, Sire," the guard announced. Sophie bowed into a deep curtsy, and she heard the King guffaw.

"You may rise," he told her. She rose to her feet, lifting her head so that she could address the King. Zarkon regarded her curiously, so she decided that it would be best to speak.

"I bring news about the Queen, Majesty," she began. "She's quite ill, as you know…"

The King nodded, then beckoned for her to ascend the steps of the dais. "Let's talk about this more privately," he explained, shooting a cold glance at his son. Sophie picked up the skirts of her gown and ascended the steps of the dais. She felt the King's eyes on her, as though he was appraising her. _Lecher,_ she thought. And then there was a movement in the shadows. Of course-Haggar seated on the stool in her corner, with that horrible blue cat purring on her lap.

The King motioned for the guard to bring up a cushioned stool for Sophie. Once it had been placed properly alongside the King's throne, she perched onto it. The King laid his scepter across his lap and put her hand on her shoulder, his reptilian face becoming grave. "How ill is the Queen?" he asked her with almost mock concern.

Sophie inwardly flinched at the King's touch; she could feel the coldness of his hands even through the blue silk of her gown, but outwardly, she remained as calm and poised as ever. "She is very ill, Majesty," she replied. "I would like to inform the princesses, but I thought I would let you do it, as their father…"

He seemed to blink a few times at the mention of the two little girls. Do you even know their names? Sophie wondered. "Is she dying, Archduchess?"

"Your doctors believe so."

He nodded, downing the contents of the wine goblet and snapping his fingers for the handmaiden to appear again. Sophie kept her eyes downcast as the young woman shakily poured the King more wine. Once the handmaiden had left, she turned her face up to the King.

"I think it'd be best if you told them, Sire," she went on. "You are their father, and they do love you…"

"But they're afraid of me." Was the King drunk? "No, Sophie, you tell them. Or have their brother do it. Have Lotor do it, Sophie. He's very well acquainted with how it feels when mothers die."

From Archduchess to Sophie. This was very disarming, to say the least. And then the part about mothers dying…

"She had asked for me to send for my brother and for Ancelin Fosco, Majesty," Sophie said.

The King nodded. "Send for Sebastian, Sophie. I'd like to see him."

"I shall," Sophie said quietly. The King grinned, patting Sophie's dark hair, and she closed her eyes at the coldness against her scalp.

She opened her eyes once the King had leaned back into his throne. "Sebastian," the King said incongruously, regarding the tip of his scepter, a golden hand with a pointed index finger, "I'd like to see Sebastian. It's been too long." He turned to her again, the grin showing his white, pointed teeth. "If Sebastian chooses to remain on Doom and to appoint someone else to govern Illyria, he will have the future before him and the universe at his feet. Tell him that." He'd raised his voice at this point, eyeing his son, who'd been standing at the entrance of the throne room.

"I will, Majesty. Or perhaps you could tell him yourself, when he arrives," Sophie answered.

"He's too concerned about Illyria. Illyria can take care of itself. I could appoint anyone to govern it, and it would fall into step, into the rank and file."

"Perhaps all he wants is Illyria, Majesty. He's not given to overly grand ambitions."

"Which is why I trust him."

"Why, Majesty!" Sophie was shocked. "And do you not trust you own son?"

"I'd sooner trust an executioner."

Sophie shuddered at this. "Majesty, he is your son. He would serve you better than my brother."

"So you say."

"So I say."

He narrowed his yellow, reptilian eyes. "You tread dangerously, Archduchess Sophie."

She inclined your head. "But when I first arrived at this Court three years ago, Majesty, you told me that of all people, you trusted those of us from the Illyrian House of Vasary, that we could speak freely with you. So I speak freely with you, Sire. I tell you what I think. If you wish me to speak differently, then say so now, and I shall speak differently."

The King scoffed. "You know what you are, Archduchess Sophie? All pretty words. Pretty words from a pretty face. And do you know what pretty words mean? Nothing!" He cut his hand across the air in front of her face to emphasize this, and she couldn't help but stare at the sharp claws. Cold hands and sharp claws that Plautilla had endured for so many nights…

He then returned away. "You may leave, Archduchess, and see to my daughters."

Sophie was relieved at this. She rose from the stool and curtsied deeply, murmuring, "Majesty." He waved his hand to dismiss her, and she couldn't descend the stairs more quickly.

She passed Lotor, who caught her by the arm, drawing her close to him. "So it's true, then? Queen Plautilla is dying?"

Sophie felt tears fill her eyes, and without looking at him, she nodded. "Yes, my lord Prince."

"Come with me."

She let him lead her into the privacy of the corridor, and he repeated the questions. Biting her lips, Sophie replied, "She is, Your Grace. She is close to death, and she wishes to see my brother and Prime Minister Fosco before it happens…"

"Don't call me Your Grace, Sophie." Here his voice grew soft, softer than Sophie had ever known, except, perhaps, with his sisters. "We played together as children, and we used no formalities. Don't you remember Sebastian and me as we rode through the meadows of the north of Illyria, and how we would wait for you while you rode on your pony?"

"You picked grapes for me," Sophie said, her heart lifting a bit. "You picked grapes for me and called me your lady fair, and told me that you would be my knight and die for my honor, and Sebastian said…"

"And Sebastian said he wished it so."

"Sebastian wished a thousand things," Sophie said laughingly, "but they didn't come to pass."

"And I've wished a thousand things."

"A thousand things? Is one of those thousand Allura of Arus?"

He bristled at this. "Don't speak of it, Sophie."

She stepped back. "So I see."

"And what do you see, Sophie?"

She arched a dark brow. "A thousand things."

He stepped forward. "Sophie…"

She looked away from him. "I shall call Sebastian. Go to Palmira and Darya; they love you most."

"And what will I tell them, Sophie?"

She closed her eyes. "Tell them their mamma loves them very much. Tell them their mamma will see them once…"

"Sophie."

She opened her eyes. "We were children."

"We weren't."

"Lotor, I was but fourteen. _We were children._ "

_Might I kiss you, lady fair?_

_Oh, knight valiant, so you may!_

_Will Sebastian be angry?_

_Silly! I won't tell him!_

"Sophie." He reached for her hand.

"Tell them, Lotor. Go to Palmira and Darya and tell them. I will send for Sebastian."

And she brushed him away, tears gathering in her eyes.

They had more or less grown up together.

And now they had grown apart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.**

**Author's Note: Plautilla is inspired by a painting of young Catherine of Braganza, the wife of King Charles II of England.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Two**

Sebastian grew somber when Sophie delivered to him the news of Plautilla's illness and what seemed to be her impending death. "And the King…how is he taking it?" he said.

Sophie chose her words carefully. "He doesn't seem to be affected by it, but perhaps he was in shock…"

"Perhaps he was," Sebastian murmured. One always had to be cautious about what was said during computerized communications. Who knew if they were being recorded or watched, particularly here? "Prime Minister Fosco and I will leave at once. I will contact the King before we land."

Sophie nodded, and the screen went black. She went toward Plautilla's bedroom to see that she was sound asleep and that one of her ladies kept vigil over her. She turned on her heel and went through the boudoir to the salon and stopped in her tracks when she heard voices in the anteroom.

She clenched her jaw when she heard the high-pitched croak of Haggar. "The King has sent me to see what I could do for the Queen," she explained. "Sometimes magic is the only thing that can cure illnesses."

The young lady-in-waiting answered, "The Queen is quite ill, and…" The girl's voice trailed off, and that was when Sophie burst into the room. "Archduchess!" she exclaimed.

Haggar raised her head a bit to catch Sophie's eye, and Sophie swore that she could see the faintest of smiles on the bent crone's ravaged face. "Archduchess Sophie." She bowed her head momentarily in acknowledgement of Sophie's rank. "As I was telling Mariana" -here she smiled saccharinely at the young lady-in-waiting- "the King has sent me to see if my magic could help the Queen."

"The Queen is asleep now, and is expected to remain so for some time," Sophie said evenly. "Perhaps you should return later?"

The crone's face lit up with something. Sophie tried to put her finger on it, but she couldn't decide if it was a look of triumph or of curiosity satisfied. "Of course, Archduchess," she assented. "Will you call me when she awakens?"

"I'll send for you when she does, Haggar," Sophie answered with an air of finality.

As soon as the witch had gone and the door was shut behind her, Sophie rounded on Mariana. "How did she get in here?"

Mariana's lips trembled. "She knocked on the door and came in, and then she simply began talking and…"

Sophie sighed. "She didn't get past the anteroom?"

"No, Archduchess."

Well, that was a relief. "She mustn't be let in again. Tell her that the Queen is too ill to be bothered. Do you understand?"

Mariana nodded. At that moment Hortense entered the room with a few handmaidens behind her. Sophie pulled her into the salon and explained to her what just had occurred. Hortense paled when Sophie mentioned that Haggar had simply come into the Queen's apartments without any invitation and had tried to persuade Mariana to let her past the anteroom.

"She's determined to see if the rumors about the Queen are true," Hortense posited, turning her head slightly to see if any of the handmaids were trying to listen to them. "We must keep her away from the Queen at all costs."

"I thought the same thing. She would no doubt use her magic to hasten the Queen's death." Sophie grew quiet as the handmaidens passed by them to the bedroom carrying fresh linens. The lady who was currently with the Queen, Rosaline, and Mariana helped Plautilla out of bed and led her to the daybed in the boudoir so that the handmaidens could change the linens.

"Do you think she knows about the charms?" Hortense asked Sophie, and Sophie's eyes traveled up to the bit of wall above the doorframes of the boudoir and bedroom. As a young bride, the Queen had been terrified of the stories of Haggar's magic, and so she had brought a wisewoman with her from Illyria to cast a charm over her rooms. The wisewoman had drawn sigils on the walls above the thresholds of those two rooms to protect Plautilla from Haggar's evil eye. They were very faint and it was difficult to find them, but if one knew what they looked like, they were easy to see.

"I think that she knows by now," Sophie answered. She watched as Mariana fetched a book from the shelf in the boudoir, sat down close to the Queen, and began to read to her. "If you'll excuse me, I must see to the princesses."

"Of course," Hortense responded, and she went into the boudoir to see to the Queen.

* * *

It had been inculcated into Sophie from the time she was a small child that as the daughter of an Illyrian archduke and the granddaughter of the Illyrian Grand Duke, she could the best of many things, but she always must remember one thing: her loyalty to her family was most important.  _Blood is everything._  It was the motto and was emblazoned in the Vasary family crest, right below the picture of two swords crossed over one another and a red rose twined through them. Loyalty to family had gotten the House of Vasary to where it was now, with a daughter sitting as Queen of one of the most powerful empires in the galaxy and, moreover, close access to the King and all of the perks and privileges that came with it.

But it hadn't always been that way. Illyria had once parleyed with the Alliance in hopes of joining it, until an incident of what could have been considered friendly fire had ended it. One of the Terran ships had been involved in a skirmish with a ship from the Drule Empire, and the ship carrying the Archduke Nicholas and his wife Emma had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire. It was clear that a missile from the Terran ship had struck the Illyrian liner, and the archduke and archduchess and all other souls aboard were killed instantly.

Sophie had only been five at the time, and Sebastian had only been eight. She remembered bits and pieces of her parents: her mother playing the pianoforte, and then teaching her a song by the Terran composer Mozart; her father taking her on horseback rides on his charger, his arms about her as she sat in front of him clutching the reins as tightly as she could; her mother bending over her sketchbook while she and Sebastian played in the garden with their father. Those were happy times, and Grandpapa had been so proud of his family and of what they would accomplish and what they might accomplish.

And then it was all gone. Stolen from them in what some might call the casualties of war.

Grandpapa had changed after that. He became a man bent not on vengeance, but on finding another way to bring Illyria to greatness. And he saw the other path to it through betrothing his granddaughter Plautilla to Zarkon. Zarkon's first wife-or paramour, depending upon who was telling the story-had betrayed him in the worst way possible, and he had flown into a rage and killed her for it. In one story, she had come to negotiate on behalf of the slaves of her native planet of Arus. In another, she had refused to marry him even after bearing him a son. In still another, she had confided in the court witch Honerva, and Honerva-the young Haggar-had gone to the King, who also happened to be her lover, and then he had gone to confront his wife and had ended up killing her.

The informal ties had begun to form after that: Lotor, who had attended the Academy with Sebastian, had started spending holidays in Illyria instead of going home to Korrinoth. Sophie was never sure of whether or not Lotor and Sebastian were really friends. Sometimes they fought quite horribly, pummeling each other to a bloody pulp while Sophie would run for her governess. Grandpapa had broken up the worst and last of the fights. As punishment, both boys had had to muck out the horse stalls for the last two weeks of their holiday. Sophie wasn't sure if Zarkon had even heard about it, but after her grandfather's intervention, the boys called a truce and there was no more fighting.

It had become apparent that Zarkon and her grandfather were contemplating a marriage between Lotor and herself when Zarkon came to stay at the summer palace the year Sophie turned twelve. Sophie hadn't liked him at first, though she had hidden her disdain for him under a smiling face and charming manners. He had had the audacity to bring his concubine to supper each night, which had caused Aunt Tatia to stammer in dismay. His manners were gauche, he made noise when he ate, and he drank all of the best wine.

But he had sung praises of Sophie. He had assured her grandfather that she would make a wonderful Queen at his son's side, and that he would be proud to have one Illyrian queen sit on the throne after the other.

When their grandfather had died, though, and Zarkon had been able to appoint his own governor to rule Illyria, his tone changed. He became reticent to officially betroth Sophie to Lotor, though he did allow Sophie to come to Court as his wife's lady-in-waiting. There was talk of an engagement to this or that Drule lord, which never came to pass, and-most recently-the young soldier who had insisted he could beat Voltron and who had died trying. That had been a very lucky coincidence, Sophie thought.

And now that Plautilla was dying-it seemed as though the doctors were sure of it-would Zarkon's eye fall on her as his next wife, or had he had his fill of Illyrian women and committed himself to never marrying again? Sophie shuddered at this prospect.  _Cold hands and sharp claws._

She came to the door of the chambers her young cousins inhabited and knocked on it. The girls' governess let her in. Sophie followed her through the anteroom, and into the schoolroom where the Crown Prince sat talking quietly with his sisters.

It was a pity, Sophie thought, that the King took no interest in the upbringing of his daughters. It had fallen to Plautilla.  _And now who will see to them?_  Sophie wondered. Not the King. Never the King. Surely, it would fall to her.

Darya looked up when she saw Sophie enter, and she pushed herself off of her brother's lap and ran to Sophie. Sophie knelt down and took the little girl into her arms, listening to her sobs. Palmira was more reserved; she sat on the sofa, weeping quietly, wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling. Lotor's eyes met Sophie's, and he seemed at a loss as to what to do.

"Your cousin Sebastian will arrive some time tomorrow," Sophie told seven-year-old Darya.

"Will he take Mamma to Illyria where she can get better?" Darya asked Sophie, pulling out of her embrace and staring at her with a tear-splotched face.

Sophie took her handkerchief out of the pocket of her gown and dabbed at Darya's eyes. "Your mamma is going to stay here," she said, "but Sebastian is going to do everything he can to try and make sure that she gets well."

"But she  _isn't_  going to get well." Here ten-year-old Palmira interrupted Sophie. "She is dying, Darya. That means we'll never see her again, ever, and that Papa will find a new wife, and he'll forget all about us."

 _He already has forgotten them._  "Don't say such things, Palmira," Sophie admonished. "Your papa loves both of you very much, though he might not always tell you. He is King, and he is a very busy man…"

_Lies lies lies._

"He is a very busy man," Lotor added, putting his hand on Palmira's shoulder. "This is why he sent me here to tell you about your mamma and to kiss you good night."

He seemed ill at ease with this. Sophie couldn't blame him for it. His half-sisters worshipped him, considered them their conquering hero of a brother. They wrote him letters to open and read while he was away at war, they traced his journeys on the big map of the galaxy in the schoolroom, marking each place he had been with a pin. They spoke lovingly of him, unlike their father.

 _Three children, one bullied, the other two forgotten. Such a wonderful father he is,_  Sophie thought dismally as she kissed the girls good night.

Some moments later,. Lotor joined her in the corridor outside the nursery. "You've sent for your brother?" he asked her, and she nodded. "Good."

They walked through the silent corridor together.  _And what will he be like with the children of his third wife? If he takes a third?_

"What are you thinking of, Sophie?" he said suddenly.

Her breath caught. Yes, he knew. He always knew when she was deep in thought. Her brow would knit and she would get a distant look in her eyes, and sometimes her expression would betray her feelings about the thoughts themselves.

"Once Plautilla is dead, your father will wait for an acceptable amount of time-after the mourning period back home, perhaps-and then look to take a third wife."

"And do you think it will be you?"

She looked away from him, inhaling shakily.

"You do!" Lotor crossed his arms and stared down at her with an ironic expression on his face. "I can assure you, Sophie, that he's not going to marry you."

"You can?" Sophie exclaimed, her voice strangely shrill. "How…how do you know?"

He smiled mysteriously. "There are rumors about him in the harem…that he finds it difficult to perform certain things."

She knew the meaning of that. As seemingly cloistered of an upbringing she had had, years in Zarkon's court had made her aware of such things. "Then that is why…"

"Then that's why he hardly went to Plautilla after Darya was born? Yes, that's why. He'd rather have a willing slave girl than a dutiful wife. Think of it as a reprieve, Sophie. You won't be  _his_ Queen."

She wouldn't be Zarkon's Queen. She felt lighter after she heard that, and she gladly dismissed any fear of that possibility from her mind.

They continued down the corridor and then down the staircase to the floor which held her apartments. It was still cold, though Lotor didn't seem to feel it.

They stopped in front of the door to her rooms, and Sophie placed her hand on the doorknob. She then turned to Lotor and asked, "Would you like to come in for a moment? I can send for tea or something else…"

He shook his head, a smirk forming on his face. Perhaps a solution to the war with Arus had come to him, perhaps a new battle plan to try. She opened the door to her rooms and bid him good night. She was about to shut the door when he called out, "Sophie!"

She stood there with the door ajar as he crossed the corridor and stopped a few inches in front of her.

"Yes?" she said.

"You were raised to be a queen," he said abruptly. From the look on his face it seemed as though an idea was crystallizing in his head.

"I was," she admitted. "But I've now found that it's possible for me to be a great many things."

"But still," he continued, as though she had never spoken, "you were raised to be a queen." He leaned closer to her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "Do you  _want_ to be a queen?"

This! What was all of this? "What are you asking, Lotor?"

He frowned, glaring at her, almost, and he seemed annoyed at that. "Why not answer the question, Sophie? Do you want to be a queen, yes or no?"

She had never thought of it like that. A long time ago, she would have expected it, but now, with everything that had changed, she wasn't sure if it would ever happen.

But Queen- _Queen!_  She would serve her family well, she would take them to greatness with her. And were she Queen, were she Lotor's Queen…

 _A Vasary would sit on the throne of the Drule Empire._  This was what her grandfather had been preparing her for all along. This was why Plautilla had invited her to Court to begin with.

"Yes," she told him honestly. "Yes, I want to be a queen. As I was born to be."

"I knew that you would." He smiled, and his eyes gleamed. "If I told you that I could make you a queen, would you trust me?"

"When have I not trusted you?" she riposted.

"True, you've always trusted me," he muttered. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And if you keep trusting me, Sophie, I'll make you a queen."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Voltron," but all original characters are mine.**

**House of Cards**

**Chapter Three**

"Plautilla is dying." The words didn't sound real coming out of Sebastian's mouth.

"She has been ill on and off for some time, and now it seems that the illness has taken a turn for the worse."

"And do you know of her ailment?" Ancelin Fosco poured himself some more wine, his brow furrowing in concern.

"A fever and inflammation of the lungs. She's coughing up blood."

"Poison?"

"It could be."

"The King."

There was a silence between them. Sebastian pushed his plate away and rose from his chair. "And if it is poison, he would have a good reason for it…"

"Or else it's the witch," Ancelin offered. "And she would have good reason as well, or perhaps he may have ordered it…"

Sebastian didn't wish to speculate any further on it. He would wait until they arrived on Doom and they had seen Plautilla to draw any conclusions. If Plautilla did die, there was the question of what would be done with Palmira and Darya. Sebastian would ideally like to see them brought up in Illyria, and his sister home as well. But he knew in his heart of hearts that Zarkon would never allow this to happen. The princesses were his daughters and should grow up in his court, and Sophie would no doubt be kept to oversee their household.

Hostages.

"The stranglehold grows tighter, then," Ancelin observed.

"Soon he'll start squeezing the life out of Illyria," Sebastian said angrily. "We are nothing to him."

Ancelin's eyes glinted. "Something fortuitous might happen our way. Zarkon hasn't made slaves of us yet."

"No," Sebastian acknowledged, "but it doesn't mean that the thought hasn't crossed his mind."

"If I may, Your Grace," Ancelin ventured, "there is always the option that we return to the plan your grandfather originally had. If we were to somehow persuade the Prince to enter into marriage with your sister, then that would only help Illyria to maintain its present position as a beloved protectorate of the Drule Empire."

"You would ask me to barter my sister so that Illyria might maintain its present position?" Sebastian said incredulously.

"It is not bartering, Your Grace. It's simply-as the Terrans say-calling in a favor. The marriage was arranged long ago, and Zarkon has not kept his word and has more or less stalled it. If Lotor could be nudged to approach his father and press his suit for Sophie, then the King would have no choice but to agree with it. The King wishes for his only son and heir to marry, and the Prince's deluded obsession with the Arusian princess has dashed all hopes of that. If you could offer Lotor something in exchange for marriage to Sophie, then no doubt he will go to his father and demand to marry your sister. Zarkon will have no choice; he has no other sons, and he needs to be sure that his line will continue on."

True. All of this was true. The last time Lotor had come to Illyria on the way home from another failed campaign, he had spoken of how much he detested his father and how he wished the old sot would die. "If not, I may need to wrest the throne from him. You will support me, won't you, Sebastian? We're friends, after all. You'd be well rewarded. I can promise you that."

Sebastian wasn't sure if he could really call Lotor a friend. Did the Prince really have any friends?

"And Sophie? What of her? Does she deserve to be used as a bargaining chip?" Sebastian demanded.

"Sophie has been raised with the expectation of marrying the Crown Prince. She will do what is required of her. She is a Vasary. She will serve her family first. Because blood is everything."

And that was true, more so than Sebastian would have liked to admit.

* * *

The liner landed early in the morning, and Sebastian and Ancelin were shown to their rooms and then left alone so that they could rest before the rest of the castle woke. Before he retired, Sebastian found that there were quite a few messages for him. One from the King, one from Lotor, and one from Sophie.

He left a message for the King requesting an audience in the midmorning. But first, he must see his sister about Plautilla's condition. If things were just as was feared, then he must be there to ensure that his sister and the princesses suffered no ill effects from it.

 

* * *

If there had been any constant in Sophie's life, it would be death. The deaths of her parents, her uncle-Plautilla's father, her grandmother, her grandfather, and now Plautilla herself.

Here on Doom, death was all around. Beyond the Queen's wing, there was death and suffering, so needless, but so vital to Doom that it had become part of everyday living here. Sophie had done her best to ignore it, to remain within the little respite that Plautilla had created. But it was so difficult not to see it on the days she had stood at the Queen's side in the throne room, trying to maintain a mask of indifference as the guards dragged away slaves who sought the Queen's intervention.

Sophie rolled over in her bed, sighing. Many times, Plautilla had been seen as the last best hope to the slaves for some type of mercy, but really, the Queen hadn't the power to help all of them. She would do the best she could, including finding some place for them in her household or that of her daughters. But she hadn't been able to save all of them from cruel fates, and Sophie knew that had always weighed heavily on Plautilla's conscience.

But when Sophie was Queen…

When I am Queen I shall persuade Lotor to abolish the arena spectacles. When I am Queen I shall be as good and merciful and as much of a hope to the slaves as Plautilla is. When I am Queen…

"Mistress." It was one of Sophie's handmaidens, Celia, a young girl who had been spared from the harem only by Plautilla's intervention. She quietly approached Sophie's bedside. "Mistress, you must wake up. Your brother is here."

Sebastian! Sophie quickly rose and took the dressing gown Celia had been holding for her. She entered her sitting room, where Sebastian was standing appraising the newly upholstered sofa. He turned to her when he heard her enter, and she all but ran to him. He took her into his arms and she wrapped her own arms around him. "Brother! I'm so happy you're here!" She felt tears prick her eyes as she buried her face into the shoulder of his jerkin.

"There now, Sophie," he whispered comfortingly, stroking her dark chestnut hair. He disengaged himself from her embrace and took her hands into his. "Have the princesses been told?"

"Yes, Lotor and I did it ourselves. The King wished for Lotor to do it, and Lotor did as instructed." She turned to Celia, who stood waiting to attend her. "Please, Celia-some hot wine for the archduke and myself." Once Celia had left the room to fetch the hot wine, Sophie sat down on the sofa. Sebastian sat down beside her, at a point from which he could easily see the door to the hallway open or close.

"Is there something else?" he queried, his blue eyes wary. She lifted her shoulder, the leaned forward.

"I've been frightened that Zarkon might wish to marry me after Plautilla has died. I confided this to Lotor, who told me not to worry, for the King has no wish to marry again."

"But?" Sebastian prodded. Yes, there was always that but with Lotor. They had both learned to expect it.

"But," Sophie said, "as we left the princesses' rooms last night, he asked me something: whether or not I wished to be Queen."

Sebastian's ears seemed to prick up, and he grabbed her hand, his face suddenly eager. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him that I would. He told me that if I trusted him, he would make me a queen."

Sebastian sucked in his breath. "So he has moved already," he intoned.

"He? Who is he, and what do you mean?" Sophie demanded.

"Plautilla has long wanted Zarkon to follow through on his word so that you and the Prince might marry. But now that Lotor has moved first…" Sebastian grinned. "This makes it all the easier, sister dear."

"But he asked if I wanted to be a queen, not his queen," Sophie countered, trying to make sense of it trying not to sound too eager for it. "He could marry me off to one of the petty client kings of the Drule Empire. He wants the Arusian princess as his queen."

"Does the Arusian princess come with a fleet of ships numbering in the thousands, or lords and dukes who have sworn undying loyalty to her, or a great fortune?" Sebastian asked pointedly. "Or true blood royal?"

And true, the Arusian princess came with none of those things. What she had, though, was a vanguard of knights true who were determined to protect her and help her to preserve the independence of her home planet. And, of course, there was the war machine Voltron. The princess had recently begun piloting the Blue Lion, which had infuriated Zarkon and made her even more appealing to Lotor.

 _But she isn't like me,_ Sophie thought. _She isn't as accomplished, and she has no idea of what it would mean to be Queen of the Drule Empire. She is just a little girl who dresses up and plays ruler of Arus while her prime minister really does all of it._

"Plautilla will be delighted," Sebastian went on. "You'll be Queen, just as Grandfather wanted, just as you should have been Crown Princess by now. And if he is able to have the Arusian princess, she will be but his concubine."

"And if he chooses to take other wives?"

"Take other wives?"

"You know the old custom."

Sebastian made a face. "Oh, yes, that. Ancelin has already thought of that."

"And what has he thought of?"

"He'll have it put in the marriage contract. If Lotor must take other wives, then you must be the primary Queen-the true Queen-and all his other wives, even Allura fair, must come after you."

So it was true.

Queen. He wishes to make me Queen. His Queen.

"And what will Lotor have in return?" Sophie asked quietly. Because she knew that Lotor would always want something in return for whatever he might be giving, and then some more. All so that it would work out in his favor.

"The thousands of ships. The fealty of all Illyrian dukes and lords. The vast fortune. The nine planets and moon colonies alone you'll bring him."

A fleet. An army. Political backing.

He was planning to wrest the throne from Zarkon. There had been rumors of it whispered about the castle now and again, particularly when Lotor was angry with his father. Sophie had always dismissed anything Lotor might have said to that effect as part of his quick temper: words spoken rashly in anger and then forgotten just as quickly.

"So, then," Sophie surmised, "he really means to do it?"

Sebastian nodded slowly.

"And you remember the one thing that Grandfather said about achieving greatness."

Of course Sophie remembered.

Greatness is achieved through not only careful planning, quick decision-making, and cunning, but most of all, through patience.

"And in Illyria," Sophie said, watching as Celia returned to the room carrying a tray of two goblets and a pitcher of hot, spiced wine, "we are very patient."

Celia set the tray down on a table and then poured them each a glass. She brought them the glasses, and they each took theirs carefully in an effort not to spill the hot wine. Sebastian raised his goblet to Sophie. "Why, yes, sister dear, so we are!"

"So we are!" Sophie laughed, lifting the brim of the goblet to her lips.

* * *

"Well, well, Sebastian." Lotor emerged from his bedroom, tying the sash of his dressing gown. "You're determined to make me an early riser, aren't you?" He took a seat at the table in the anteroom, then gestured for Sebastian to take the seat across from his.

"It was a late night, Your Grace?" Sebastian said carefully, pointedly trying to ignore the disheveled concubine carrying her shoes as she tried to slip out the door.

"A very late night." Lotor waved his hand and the handmaiden brought him a platter laden with fruit and meat and two hardboiled eggs carefully placed in eggcups. "Sophie said that you would be arriving very early in the morning. Did you have a chance to rest?"

"For a bit," Sebastian replied. "But you were otherwise occupied, I take it?"

"I was," Lotor murmured, picking at his breakfast. "And I would've been otherwise occupied if you hadn't so rudely interrupted me."

"Rudely?" Sebastian echoed, raising his eyebrows. "Your Grace, when it concerns my beloved sister I shall always be rude."

Lotor smiled at Sebastian's wit. "Stop calling me Your Grace, Sebastian. We've known each other far too long for you to do that." He took a sip of coffee, then smoothed his napkin over the lap of his silk pajama pants. "So Sophie told you?"

"She did."

"It doesn't surprise me that she would tell you as soon as she saw you. Do you have anything to say about it?"

"Lotor, as I said, I'm her brother. Therefore, I shall have something to say about it, as will Ancelin Fosco."

"And what does Fosco think?"

"He is optimistic that the marriage will finally take place. That is, if you mean to marry her."

Lotor chewed on the ham for a moment, considering this. "Of course I mean to marry her!" he snapped back.

"Have you gone to your father about it?"

"I plan to. Why? When do you see him?"

"At noon. Precisely."

Lotor sighed, squeezing his eyes shut at what must have been a shock of pain from drinking too much wine. "Then I'll go to him before that. He'll be pleased that I'm marrying, less pleased that it's Sophie. But Sophie is better than any of the other princesses he's paraded before me in the last few months."

Sebastian decided to tackle the hardest part of it here. "There will be the terms outlined in the marriage contract, but one I fear that we must speak of now."

"Really, Sebastian?" Lotor cocked his head, staring at him expectantly. "What's the term?"

"It has to do with your pursuit of the Arusian princess."

"Allura. She has a name."

"Very well, then. Allura."

"What about her?"

Sebastian reached for the cup of coffee that had been poured out for him. "Since Sophie is the bride of your choosing, you must convey the message you want her to be your Queen. And to do so, you must cease pursuing Allura of Arus." Sebastian paused when he saw Lotor's face contort in anger. "For a time."

"For a time? For a time? For how long?"

"For some months."

Lotor glared at Sebastian. "For this long?"

"Long enough for my sister to be accepted as Crown Princess, as the true future Queen, and as mother to your heirs."

The Prince's mouth tightened, and he scowled down at the platter for a moment, picking at the grapes. At length he addressed Sebastian. "And if I don't agree to these terms?"

"Then there will be no marriage, no thousands of ships, no fealty from any Illyrian dukes or lords, no vast fortune, and no dowry."

"You're much too clever, Sebastian," Lotor said, sitting back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You know me too well."

"And you know me too well," Sebastian riposted, watching as Lotor finished his meal. "But I would still be honored to call you brother."

"You would. I have no doubts about that." He watched as Sebastian rose to leave. "I'll go to my father before you do. Needless to say, he'll be surprised." A smile played on the corners of Lotor's lips. "Very surprised."

"Indeed," Sebastian said, bowing before leaving. And as the door slid shut behind him, he drew a deep breath.

Their grandfather had never counted on one thing.

That they would be dealing with the devil himself.


End file.
